The Poetry of H. D. by H. D.

First published:Sea Garden, 1916; Hymen, 1921; Heliodora and Other Poems, 1924; Collected Poems of H. D., 1925; The Usual Star, 1928; Red Roses for Bronze, 1931; Collected Poems of H. D., 1940; By Avon River, 1942; The Walls Do Not Fall, 1944; Tribute to the Angels, 1945; The Flowering of the Rod, 1946; Selected Poems, 1957

Critical Evaluation:

The poetry of H.D., as Hilda Doolittle chose to call herself, represents the most Imagistic poems of the school of Imagism. This school of “new” poetry, flourishing during the first two decades of the twentieth century, was finally triumphed over and controlled by Amy Lowell. The proponents had as their credo of poetry (1) the use of common speech; (2) the creation of new rhythms; (3) absolute freedom in subject matter; (4) the use of image; (5) the writing of hard, definite, and clear verse; and (6) the concentration of poetry in its very essence. Although most poets associated with this group later wandered from its narrow statement of beliefs or accomplished little, Hilda Doolittle adhered faithfully to the tenets and produced poetry that is very effective.

The first poem in her first collection called SEA GARDEN reveals her art and accomplishment. In “Sea Rose” with unemotional words, sharp and hard in their clarity, she describes the desiccated sea roe, stunted and blown with the sand in the wind, and yet, despised and abandoned, it has more real fragrance than another flower, the conventional lovely rose, supposedly more fragrant. The poet’s room for maneuver and accomplishment is narrow. She uses sixteen lines and only sixty-four words. But the poem is a fine and delicate cameo chiseled in marble.

Another such poem is “Sea Lily.” In this work the poet addresses the reed that has been broken and torn by the wind. The myrtle is speckled from this reed, the scales are torn from its stem, and it is cut by sand that is sharp as flint, yet through it all the reed stands lifted up despite all the efforts of enemy elements to cover it.

Such poems are triumphant successes. Many, however, are poignant cries which, because of the author’s technique, her assiduous use of the credo of the Imagists, somehow fail to come through to full development. They suggest and hint, but they are underdeveloped and therefore are generally unsuccessful.

A poem of this kind is “Mid-Day.” The poet says that the light and heat are beating her down into nothingness. The wind rattles the seed-pods, and her thoughts are scattered like the seeds. But in the midst of this dryness she looks up and sees the deep-rooted poplar spreading among the other trees on the hill, and she addressed the poplar, pointing out how much more vital and alive it is on the hill than the writer is, perishing as she is on the rocks.

Another such work is “Pursuit.” In it the speaker is following a man whose footsteps are half hidden, interrupted here and there, but distinct enough to be followed. She follows him past the wild hyacinth stalk that he has snapped in passing, through the grass he has brushed, past the forest ledge slopes and the roots that his hand snapped with its weight, on up the hill, then down where he fell, bruising his thigh and thereafter limping. Then the trail is lost and the writer can no longer find any trace of him in the underbrush and the fallen larch cones.

H.D.’s knowledge of Greek was extensive. More than half her work consists of poems on classical subjects and, to a smaller extent, translations of such writers as Euripides. One poem based on a Greek theme is the poignant “Eurydice,” which tells how Orpheus descended to Hades, charmed Pluto with his music, and was allowed to lead Eurydice back to earth on the condition that he would not look back until he reached the upper air. The age-old story is, however, told from a different point of view, by Eurydice after she has been condemned to go back to Hades. She blames her fate on the arrogance and ruthlessness of Orpheus. In Hades she had been forgotten by the world and might have remained in peace but he came and disturbed her. Time and again she pathetically asks Orpheus why he turned and looked at her just when their goal was at hand. Because of his actions she has lost the earth. But she consoles herself with the thought that her hell is no worse than his, though he lives on earth with the sun and flowers. In hell she has more light than he has on earth; she has herself for flowers and her own fervor and her own spirit for a light. She realizes that before she can be lost, hell must allow the passing of the dead.

In other poems she passes from Greek mythology to literature, to Homer. Her poem “Helen” paints a death’s-head black-and-white portrait of the wife who by her behavior caused the war between the Greeks and the Trojans. One of the great sufferers of that conflict, Penelope, is the subject of a powerful poem of passion and pride in “At Ithaca.” Penelope, Ulysses’ wife, is at home hiding behind her ruse for not marrying any of the suitors who are eating her into poverty: weaving the funeral pall for her father-in-law, Laertes, during the day and unraveling it at night. After years of work she thought her duty was done, and she longed passionately that one of the suitors would tear her weaving aside and conquer her with a kiss. But each time she saw her work in its entirety she was reminded of the greatness of her husband, and in contrast with him all the suitors around her faded into nothingness.

Sometimes, in a single simple sentence, H.D. pours feeling that rends the heart, for example, in “Circe.” Circe is alone after Ulysses has thwarted her and gone away. She recalls how easily she bent the other men to her will, changing them into beasts as she chose. Man was easy to conquer because he prayed for a sight of her face or a touch of her hand. She could call men from the corners of the world—all except one, Ulysses. And she would give them all up for a glance from him.

The same poignancy enriches the poem “Leda,” which concerns itself with the daughter of Thestius and wife of Tyndarus, King of Sparta, seen bathing nude in the river by Zeus, who took the form of a swan in order to love her. This poem is voiced by Leda. She remembers the wonder of love and sighs for the return of the red swan, the soft feathery flutter of his wings, the warmth of his breast.

The poet’s same artistic motivations, control, and skill carry over into her translations. There are the same short lines, sometimes only a word, the identical hard, sharp, precise language and images, and the same quite fine artistic triumphs, as in the “Choruses from the IPHIGENEIA IN AULIS and THE HIPPOLYTUS OF EURIPIDES.” The women in the “Chorus of the Women of Chalkis” cross the hills of sand and the sea to see the battleline. To them, Menelaus is golden and Agamemnon is proud; both command the thousand ships of the Greek forces. They are determined to return Helen to Menelaus. The women see Achilles, with the wind strapped about his feet, flying to battle. The women are awed by the number and beauty of his ships. The number of Greek vessels is uncountable, and life will no longer be the same. The ships etch the mind.

Miss Doolittle published a considerable bulk of poetry after her COLLECTED POEMS of 1925. HIPPOLYTUS TEMPORIZES, although probably a failure as true classical tragedy, is successful as a lyrical development of her thesis that beauty lies in the heart and is inviolable. Increasingly her poetry centered on the ancient world, as in RED ROSES FOR BRONZE. The escape to the Classical world, or perhaps more properly the use of it for present-day problems, is continued in THE WALLS DO NOT FALL, which starts in London during the war years but immediately reaches back to an older world, in TRIBUTE TO THE ANGELS, and in THE FLOWERING OF THE ROD. A departure in subject matter and in style is BY AVON RIVER, praise in poetry and prose of Shakespeare and his numerous contemporaries. At her death H.D. was still writing and some of her work remained unpublished.

The power and thrust of her work was quickly recognized. She was one of the Imagists whose accomplishment was solid and whose influence was considerable though short-lived, for her later poems did little to broaden her subject matter or to create any momentous changes in style.

Bibliography

Burnett, Gary Dean. H. D. Between Image and Epic: The Mysteries of Her Poetics. Ann Arbor, Mich.: UMI Research Press, 1990.

Camboni, Marina, ed. H. D.’s Poetry: “The Meanings That Words Hide”—Essays. Brooklyn, N.Y.: AMS Press, 2003.

Collecott, Diana. H. D. and Sapphic Modernism, 1910-1950. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999.

Connor, Rachel. H. D. and the Image. New York: Palgrave, 2004.

DuPlessis, Rachel Blau. H. D., the Career of That Struggle. Brighton, England: Harvester Press, 1986.

Friedman, Susan Stanford. Psyche Reborn: The Emergence of H. D. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1981.

Fritz, Angela DiPace. Thought and Vision: A Critical Reading of H. D.’s Poetry. Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1988.

Guest, Barbara. Herself Defined: The Poet H. D. and Her World. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1984.

King, Michael, ed. H. D.: Woman and Poet. Orono, Maine: National Poetry Foundation, 1986.

Korg, Jacob. Winter Love: Ezra Pound and H. D. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2003.

Laity, Cassandra. H. D. and the Victorian Fin de Siècle: Gender, Modernism, Decadence. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996.

Morris, Adalaide Kirby. How to Live/What to Do: H. D.’s Cultural Poetics. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2003.